ROMANCE: Badass Boss (Billionaire Alpha Bad Boy Romance) (Western Mail Order Bride Calendar Contemporary)

by Susan Fleming

  “No?”

  “We went to the bank. He sold me your Uncle David’s house. It’s where I grew up, and Dandy was buying Junior Parker’s old place, so he sold me the family home.”

  “Okay, so wait a moment,” Emily says, seemingly confused. “So, you bought a house, and aren’t getting rid of this one, and it’ll belong to me, right?”

  “Right.” This one word caused Emily to jump up as if she had been bitten and to run around the table to hug her father. Just as she pulled back, there came a loud knock on the door. “Who is it?” Dwight called to the person outside.

  “It’s me! Dandy!”

  “What the hell?” Dwight asks himself under his breath, but getting up to open the door. “What’s going on Dandy? Is everything okay with Sarah Anne? The baby?”

  “Yeah, yeah…they’re fine,” Dandy answers.

  “Then what are you doing in Santa Ana at this time of night.

  “Two things really…I wanted to let you know that we are out of the house, and I have some bad news as well.”

  “Oh?” Dwight asks quizzically.

  “Yep. It seems that the elders at the church up in Atoka are having a fit, and that pompous asshole, Tyson Abrams came by ‘La Hacienda del Dandi’ looking to start some trouble.”

  “What the hell?” Dwight asks, completely shocked that the members of the church would try to start a fight with Dandy, the local hero who had taken out Doc Dawson. “Why in the world would they be coming to ‘La Ahseemento?’”

  Dwight’s butchered attempt to pronounce the new Spanish name of Dandy’s ranch brings a smile onto the younger man’s face. “It’s ‘La Hacienda del Dandi,’” Dandy tells him. “It means ‘the Estate of the Dandy’ in Spanish. Learnt it from one of the Mexican ‘vaqueros’ at the Hanged Man”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not Mexican, and I don’t speak Spanish. Anyway, why would Abrams be coming to La Hacienda?”

  “Because of Sarah Anne. Basically, he was telling me that she is a whore and that if I have any self respect, I will divorce her as soon as possible.”

  “That’s just his wife, Emily, talkin’. She used to be really good friends with Sandra, so that probably explains part of her being such a bitch (pardon the term ladies).”

  “Yeah, I know, but still, with Pauline being here, they’re probably going to be coming here too, so I wanted to come let you know.”

  “How’d you get him to leave anyway?”

  “I told him that I’ve fucked every whore in the county several times. If my wife’s a whore too, then she and I’ll get along perfectly. He got all pissed and left.” At these words, Pauline took Emily by the hand and went into the other room. “I hope I didn’t offend them, ‘Wight,” Dandy finishes lamely.

  “It seems so, Dandy,” Dwight replies with a grin. “It’s okay, friend. My Emily has heard much worse out of me because a storm was coming before.”

  “Still, I didn’t mean to offend no one,” Dandy says. “Do tell ‘em, won’t you?”

  “Yeah, I’ll tell ‘em.”

  “Thanks, I need to get back home to Sarah Anne, y’all have a good night, ‘Wight,” Dandy says before retreating.

  “You too!” Dwight calls out to the young man before calling the women back into the room.

  “So, anyway, Pauline, I’ve thought that you and I could move into my brother’s old place, and Emily, you could stay here.”

  “What about Mr. Abrams and the church in Atoka, Daddy?” Emily asks.

  “I suppose it’s probably gonna come here nex,’ because Junior is gone. But that’s fine. I know some things that will shut Tyson Abrams right up.”

  Chapter 8

  Fight

  This can’t be happening! Sandra thinks to herself as the group forms up into ranks like an army heading into battle. Much like Santa Anna’s forces 52 years before, the mob of men and their wives were marching onward to take control of a crucial defensive position…that of Dwight Butler’s new home. Torn by what to do, Sandra can not decide whether to join the mob and so protect her identity as the matchmaker, or to go to her brother’s defense, urging calm.

  Another key problem facing Sandra is that Dandy and Sarah Anne, the second couple she matched, are having Sunday dinner with her brother, Pauline, and Emily at her family home, which Dandy sold to Dwight on Monday of this week. She has no way of knowing what the mob is going to do when they arrive, but with a madman like the extremely hypocritical Tyson Abrams at the head of the column, he looks every bit the part of the conquering Santa Anna as he marched into the Alamo after Jim Bowie, Davy Crockett, and every other defender lay dead.

  The truly sad thing is that the only man who has ever been able to exert some control over the sycophantic Abrams no longer lives in Coleman County, Mr. Robert Parker Jr. has sold everything and moved north with the former Ruth Stafford. Junior was Tyson’s former employer, before he had to fire him for unknown reasons. He did not hate Tyson, because even after Junior had to fire him, he made a deal with the sheriff to make him the jailer in Atoka, working for the county. He refused to ever tell anyone why he fired Tyson, but they knew that he didn’t fire anyone from his cattle operation without good reason. And they knew that Tyson had been fired, because Junior paid his cattlemen almost double what any other rancher would pay, so the boys he had working for him when he left had been with him for some time. Dandy Darby himself had been one for over three years.

  And so it was that a crowd of nearly forty members of the Atoka Church of God were literally marching down McCulloch Street like a military unit heading for battle. They were even singing songs like “the Battle Hymn of the Republic,” and “Dixie.”

  Occasionally, she can hear one particularly loud woman call out “down with the matchmaker!” This causes Sandra to get up and look out the window, and to her surprise, it was Sally Amstead, the black, former slave-girl prostitute that was once so popular with Dandy when he stayed at The Hanged Man.

  Running out into the street before the marching column of protesters, Sandra screams out, “People! What is going on?! Why are you all causing such a ruckus in the streets of our quiet town?”

  “Get out of the way, Sandra!” Tyson Abrams says back, the mob at his back watching how their leader takes on their first obstacle.

  “I will not get out of the way, Tyson! I did not allow my dead husband (God rest his soul) to speak to me like that, and I am not going to allow you to!”

  “It is not what you will allow, Sandra, you crazy wench! This is about the will of God! We will not allow any more moral debauchery in Coleman County!”

  “Moral debauchery?” she asks, incredulous.

  “Yes! Debauchery! Dandy Darby and his whore of a wife are at your brother’s house right now, having dinner! Showing your niece (who has no mother) that it is okay to run round and act ridiculous in order to get a husband! And then, your brother is living with a woman who is not his wife in the home that you grew up in! I would think that you care more for your niece and your dead sister-in-law than to watch your brother lead her astray! It is an insult to Amanda’s memory!”

  “I knew my sister-in-law very well, actually!” Sandra responds with fire in her eyes and gravel in her belly. The jibes about Amanda and Emily have caused her to get severely upset at this crowd, led by the pompous prick, Tyson Abrams.

  “She and I talked several times about what we would want from our family if we ever died, and I happen to know that she wanted Dwight to move on with his life! To find a woman to replace her in Emily’s life! A woman who would teach Emily how to be a good, Christian woman and wife! The problem here is that you are all ignorant of what the matchmaker is doing!”

  “There it is! The way you are speaking, it sounds as if you could be the matchmaker!”

  “As if!” Sandra screams in his face, thoroughly deranged. “I have said all along that I don’t like what the matchmaker is doing! If it weren’t for him or her, my dear brother David would still be here! How dare you insult me, and his m
emory?! The truth is, the whores in this mob of yours are just angry because they couldn’t snag Junior Parker or Dandy Darby!”

  “I had Dandy Darby!” came a voice from the crowd, causing all to turn and look upon the chocolate colored face of Sally Amstead. “I had him! His wallet too! The match-maker has stolen my best source of income!”

  “The matchmaker didn’t do anything! It was that whore from Kentucky what stole your customer, nigger!” said one of the men in the group. “And really, we like you no more than the bitch he married!”

  Suddenly, a single gunshot rings through the air, and the crowd turns around to see Deputy Sheriff Coleman S. “Dandy” Darby, his pregnant wife—Sarah Anne—Dwight Butler, and Pauline Murphy. The gun is one of Dandy’s ivory handled peacemakers, but the finger on the trigger is Sarah Anne’s.

  “Listen here, you assholes!” Sarah Anne screams out, her temper so close to the surface from her hormones wrenching her thick Kentucky accent in the early afternoon air. “I am sick and gawd damned tired of this shit! Dandy is my husband! I was going to leave after he got shot, but I didn’t! He asked me to stay, so I did, and now we’re married, and gonna have a baby! And as for you, Sally! You ain’t nothing but a dirty, filthy nigger whore! You gots no right to say that you ever had my husband! Do I make myself clear?! You can all go to hell!”

  “Shut up, whore!” Tyson screams, with his eyes looking as if they are about to pop out of his head. “You and this other whore,” he says, pointing at Pauline, “y’all can just get your asses out of our town!” With that, Dwight slowly steps forward, and faces off with the deranged religious nutcase.

  “Now, Tyson, I don’t think that you should be talking like that in front of the ladies.”

  “Who? These whores?” Abrams says, pointing to Sarah Anne and Pauline in turn, while the crowd continues to yell its assent.

  “Yes, the women behind me,” Dwight replies, the very picture of calm. “Now, I may not be the smartest man when it comes to the good-book, because I can’t read the best. But I follows that what I can read. Can you say the same?”

  “Fool! I am an Elder of the Church of Christ!”

  “Well, didn’t Jesus say that any who calls his brother a fool will be in danger of hell-fire?”

  “Well, I…”

  “And didn’t he also say that ‘he who hasn’t sinned’ can cast the first stone?”

  “Well, yes, but…”

  “Well then, Tyson Abrams: are you sinless? Are you able to cast the first stone?” Turning to the crowd, Dwight calls out, “Is anyone here allowed to cast the first stone?” and just as in the story in the bible, everyone in the crowd was “convicted of his or her sin,” and so no one responded to Dwight’s challenge. And so it was, that with mutinous looks on everyone’s faces, the entire crowd dispersed.

  Turning to Sandra, Pauline, Sarah Anne, and Dandy, Dwight has a large smile on his face. He walks over and shakes Dandy’s hand, kisses Sarah Anne on the cheek, and hugs his sister. Looking at each in turn, he finally takes Pauline by the waist, and pulls her in for a deeply moving kiss, right there in the middle of McCulloch Street.

  When they break apart, Sandra laughs and says, “Go home, you two.”

  “We will, Sandra,” Dwight answers, “but first, you have to answer a question for me.”

  “Oh? And what’s that?”

  “Are you the matchmaker?”

  “No, of course not! I meant what I said to that prick, Tyson. I don’t approve of all the bachelors in the county marrying women from out of town. At least…I was. After this fiasco, I’m not sure that it’s a bad idea, actually.”

  “Okay. You aren’t lying right?”

  “No! Of course not!” Sandra asks, guilt ripping at her stomach wall. “Why would you think such a thing?!”

  “Because of the way you were defending me before Sarah Anne fired that shot. The way you stared at Pauline and I that day at the train station. Because I have often wondered if you are crazy enough to do something as harebrained as matchmaking.”

  “Dwight, as your sister, no. Now go home!”

  Chapter 9

  Resolution

  When Dwight and Pauline finally got back to the house in Voss after all the excitement on McCulloch Street, it was just starting to get dark outside. When they first got back to the ranch house, neither one felt like doing anything, and so walked all over the property for several hours, doing nothing but talking and holding hands.

  When they got inside the coolness of the house, Dwight began to scramble to find an oil lamp to light the darkness inside the home. When he finally managed to bring some light into the darkness, he carried the lamp into the bedroom to the surprise of his life: Pauline was laying on the bed… wearing nothing but a corset and chemise underneath.

  “Would you mind untying me? This thing is so restrictive, you know.”

  “Um…sure?”

  “No need to be so unsure, Dwight. Or do you not want me?”

  “Truthfully?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have wanted you for every moment since I first laid eyes on you,” he says as he releases Pauline from the restrictive piece of underwear.

  “Then why haven’t you said anything?”

  “Because I haven’t known how too.”

  “Then let me say it for you,” the newly corset-less Pauline says, and she pulls him in for a kiss. They stand there, above the bed for several long minutes, locked in a tight embrace as their tongues flit into each other’s mouths and across the other’s.

  Finally, Pauline pulls her mouth away from Dwight’s and she begins to tickle his neck with the tip of her tongue. Slowly, steadily, she removes his shirt, and then moves down his sweat soaked body, removing the salty liquid with her tongue. When she reaches his rock-hard midsection, she tenderly undoes the button of his pants, and removes them, revealing a large erection. She tenderly kisses the tip, eliciting a moan of extreme gratitude, and she takes his firmness into her, sucking gently while he begins to feel weak at the knees. Finally, she stops before he can reach a point of climax, and instead lays back on the bed, making it clear that she intends to share it with him tonight.

  He starts at her feet, kissing and licking and exploring every available square inch of exposed flesh. When he reaches her slit, he gently inserts his tongue into her dripping cavern, licking slowly as he tastes her. He moves up slightly, and begins to flick her button, which is engorged, showing just how much she has been wanting male intimacy as well.

  After only a moment, she begins to moan and writhe in pleasure, causing him to desist with his tormenting of her, and instead leave her core as it is, and instead moving up to the mountains that rest upon her chest.

  As he sucks and nibbles at her delicious peaks, he slowly inserts his throbbing member into her sex, and immediately her hips begin to roll as her sheath stretches to accommodate the colossal size of his spear. After a moment to find the most comfortable position with which to enjoy his potency, her channel grasps him greedily, soundlessly begging him to pleasure her.

  Almost immediately after he begins to thrust, her moans turn to screams of orgasmic pleasure as her hollow clutches at him, and within seconds her dewiness is increased manifold, followed shortly by an explosion from him, filling her core with the heat of his ejaculation.

  He collapses on the bed next to her, and laying an arm across her breasts, they both fall almost immediately into a sound sleep.

  Tyson Abrams walks down McCulloch Street in the early evening twilight, when a strange sight catches his eye. Walking over to investigate, he finds a journal, which contains (in addition to various journal entries) lists and crossings out of various men in the community. On the gilded cover of the book, he sees the gold embossed name, “S. Ammor.”

  “I’ve got you now, bitch!” he says to himself, as this journal provides all the proof he needs to show the entire community that the Butler man’s sister is the matchmaker.

  Love On The Prairie


  The Prairie's Mystery Matchmaker

  Book 4

  This deliciously dirty story is a part of Susan Fleming’s super-charged, highly lewd collection of love and lust, written in 2015. Those who attempt to steal any part of this goldmine and take it as their own risk being a fiery, hot death from a hunk bearing copyright notices—and she’s not about to play with you.

  This is a work of fiction—although we wish that people like this really existed, it’s nothing more than a figment of a very, very overactive imagination. Any resemblance to someone you know, a place you love or anything you hold dear to your heart is nothing more than a craving in your heart that these carnal desires and actions were true!

  It goes without saying that this book oozes with erotic sex appeal, and is filled to the rafters with a smorgasbord of acts that you certainly wouldn’t tell your grandmother about. Bodice-ripping, panty-dropping and glasses-steaming, the scenes contained herein are wickedly naughty!